The morning is sunny but cold because of the wind. The dogs have been in and out and out again. Nala was among the missing earlier. I went out and called her. She didn’t respond. That is unusual. I finally saw her in the back corner of the yard. She was standing in one spot with her head down, a sure sign she had something. I didn’t give chase. I know better. I went back into the house. She came in later.

My dance card is now pristine, empty, for the rest of the week. I have no uke, no appointments, no grocery needs, and I went to the dump Saturday. My house could do with a bit of cleaning. I guess I’ll vacuum.

Tonight spring makes its official arrival. The day may be chilly and the weather no different than yesterday’s but knowing it’s spring brings a feeling of warmth, a sense of change. Spring is the hopeful season. The world is its freshest. Drab winter is disappearing. The first colors are blossoming in the gardens. The crocus is leading the way. The daffodils aren’t far behind. The air smells sweet. The new grass is a deep green. The birds are loudest in the morning. They’re happy to greet the new day.

When I was a kid, once the days got warmer, the heavy coats, hats and mittens were put away until the next winter. Every day the afternoons stayed lighter so we got to to play outside longer, until the sun went down and the streetlights came on. My bike spent more time out of the cellar than in it. It gave me a sense of freedom. I was all over town. Sometimes I rode it to school. The bike rack was wooden and painted green. It was under trees by the fence close to one corner of the old school, the side with the back door. I never locked my bike. It was always there when school was over.

Today is a mix. Right now the sun holds sway, but there are still clouds. It is a chilly day. In the front garden, the daf buds are so much bigger now that I can see a faint trace of yellow. The purple hyacinths are high enough for the buds to appear. The garden is awake.

My dance card for the week is down to a scheduled doctor’s appointment today. This is the month of appointments. I have seen my dentist, and this will be the third doctor of the month, the last of what I call my stable of doctors. All is good so far.

When I was a kid, I never much noticed spring flowers. The new season for me meant warmth and getting closer to summer. My father didn’t plant flowers until May. The front flower bed was small so he’d only add a few flowers between the bushes. We had no back flower beds, and the side of the house had just grass and a few trees. My father’s pride and joy was his lawn. He was always a lawn guy.

The second dog my parents had was Beebe. She was found at the dump when she was puppy. Beebe had wooly black curly hair. She was a big dog. She was a sweet dog. My father used to tell people Beebe was a Canadian sheep dog, a breed he made up just for her. People believed him. Beebe loved to catch rocks. If anyone tossed a rock into the air, Beebe was ready. In defiance of the leash law, Beebe used to lie on the front lawn in the sun, a free dog. She never left the yard, but Beebe was picked up somewhere by the dog officer. That night there were thundershowers, and Beebe was afraid of thunder. My father drove to where they had imprisoned his Beebe. He knew she was probably shaking in fear. No one was there. He looked around hoping to find a way inside. He didn’t. That night he worried. He picked her up first thing in the morning and lavished her with love.

I’m sitting in a dust bowl.